[hero, the hard way]↣ p. parker | t.s daughter

|two| - edited

My chemotherapy made my hair fall out, as it does. So Peter shaved my head. Since then, the nurses gave me the cancer face much more than they did before. And being bald made me look thinner. That was an issue, because I hadn't eaten in three weeks because they chemo just made me throw up. I was bald, and I looked even skinner than I should have.

Apparently, they have solutions for when the girl with cancer isn't eating.

Two words: Feeding. Tube.

Dr. Went had to take time out of her busy schedule to come ram a tube through my nose and down my throat. Now usually the feeding tube stays down no problem, and it's only when someone is really sick that they throw up their tube. This, however, was not my case. I threw up the stupid thing probably twice a week. There was talk of putting one in surgically into my stomach, but the doctors didn't think my heart could handle the strain of a surgery.

The only thing that made the hospital bareable was Peter. He did his best to juggle the Stark internship, school work, and my sick, cancer-ey self. He did his best. There were some weekends when he just couldn't come. Those were the worst. It is absolutely soul crushing to sit in a hospital bed being pumped full of drugs and not having anyone there to talk to. Because when I was alone, that's when the bad thoughts come.

I'm probably dying as we speak

The chemo isn't working

They might have to amputate my leg

The issue wasn't that these things were unlikely, far fetched, worse case scenarios. They had high probabilities of becoming a reality. And there isn't anything scarier then that.

-

I was sitting in bed, twiddiling my thumbs and flipping through the channels on the TV, when Peter came in and scared the shit out of me.

"Peter, you little bitch! Oh my gosh! I hate you!" I was laughing, but not as hard as him. Peter was on the ground, gasping for air. Actual tears were streaming down his face.

"It's not nice to bully the sick kid, Peter. I'm dying over here and all you do is laugh," I said sarcastically. He kept laughing. After almost ten minutes, he stopped. I was pouting in my bed when he came over to me.

"Ari," Peter whined. I cracked a smile.

"Yeah?" I asked him softly.

"I'm gonna bring you somewhere. Hang on." He left and after a few minutes, came back with a wheel chair.

"Peter, are you nuts? I can't leave, I'm on bed rest. My second round of daily chemo comes in like... 2 hours." He rolled his eyes and gestured to the chair. Groaning, half for sarcastic effect and half from pain, I sat down. Peter came and hooked my IV stands onto my chair, and very cautiously, he started pushing me towards the door.

"Why are we going so slow?" I asked him, and he shushed me.

"So we don't get caught," He said in a duh tone. I rolled my eyes. Of course, he didn't even ask Dr. Went. He's just stealing me from the hospital. I smiled. That's my Peter.

He pushed me over to the elevator and slammed the button. While we waited for the elevator to get to our floor, we stood watch. Peter was on the lookout for Dr. Went while I kept my eyes glued on my room. The elevator dinged. Peter pushed me inside and hit the button for the roof.

"The roof?" I asked him suspiciously. He nodded.

"Yeah."

"Uhhh... Why the roof?"

"Because you can't leave the hospital. It's still technically hospital property, so we aren't breaking any rules," The elevator doors opened, and he pushed me out onto the roof. We stopped eventually and he parked my wheel chair. He sat down on the ground across from me.